University of Virginia Library

Scene VIII.

—Hannibal's Camp at Canusium. Hannibal, Maharbal, Adherbal, &c., at supper in the tent of Adherbal.
All
[drinking].
To Hasdrubal, and to his swift approach!

Adh.
Having paid honour to the human friend,
Wherefore forget the faithful beasts that love us?
Health to the elephants, our best allies!

Mah.
Amen to that! But how are we the better?
We want them, and we have not got them. Ay,
Had I my wish now, I'd be choosing out
From every stall along the threefold walls
The biggest of the idle beasts they keep—
Methinks I see them!—stabled at such cost,
Luxurious monsters—just to mock our need.

Han.
Right gallant warriors, that deserve their wages!
'Tis not long since that I did beg for some,
But they denied me.

Mah.
Curses on the spite
Of faction, thus to thwart thee at each turn!
Instead of sending south to scour each mile,
'Twixt Nile and Niger—oh, I know them well!
They're listening now, whilst every fool in council
Starts up to chatter 'gainst thy generalship.
I would that they who talk so big of war—
Prating of things no soul of them understands,
Battles and marches, round their supper-tables—
Could taste a little of the sweets of fighting!

Han.
Good souls of Carthage! Let them chatter on,
And let them rail too, so they grudge me not
My valiant elephants.

Mah.
Thou smil'st? Fiends catch me,
If I see anything at all to laugh at
In that which makes you merry!

Han.
Shall they so?
I was but smiling to behold in fancy
What thou and I so oft have smiled to see—
Those martial monsters striding gleefully,
With their small twinkling eyes and quivering ears,
To send the Roman squadrons, horse and man,
Piteously rolling to perdition.

Mah.
Oh,
Of those dumb, cunning creatures, the least wise
Is worth whole mobs of Carthaginian idlers,
Gaping for news of Italy!

Han.
Thou think'st so? [rises.]

I leave you for my tent, now—friends, good night.

[Exit.
Mah.
He puts a good face on it; yet be certain,
He's groaning inwardly at this delay
Of news from Hasdrubal. Where is he, then?
How long are we to fret and fume for him?
He has had time to make a flaming beacon
Of every village on the road to Rome,
And yet—

Adh.
And yet we see no conflagration.

Mah.
Little thou car'st for that! Now I'll be bound
Thou'st some Greek love-song running in thy head,
This very moment, caught up from some fool
In foolish Metapontum!

Adh.
Even so.
I love their love-songs better, I confess,
Than fierce old hymns to Moloch, thy delight—
Fit only for some murder-loving priest
To howl o'er pretty children in the flames,
As in our golden period.—Ha! wild Zeba,
Galloping towards us in his madcap fashion!

Mah.
Ay, what new freak now?

Enter Zeba, dismounting in front of the tent, and holding in his hand a severed head.
Adh.
Well, and what of this?

Zeba.
What of it? Let him answer that, who can!

Adh.
What is this head to us, then? Why this rage?

Zeba.
I only know that it was flung to me,
Before our outposts, by those dogs of Romans—
And whose it is, I swear I cannot tell.

Mah.
Nor we, indeed—haply some luckless wretch,
Caught by them, playing spy about their camp.
What matter?

Zeba.
Why then did they clap their hands,
And point, and laugh so loudly, as they bade me
Go ask of Hannibal, whose head it was?
Oh, it shall be my turn to mock these mockers,
Some day when I shall roll their grinning skulls,
To bleach beneath the broad stare of the sun,
When dogs have picked them clean.

Adh.
Well said, friend Zeba.
Let's see this victim's face.—Why, who art thou?—
Some noble Carthaginian—no doubt there.
By heaven, I would thou wert alive again!

Mah.
Look there—the soldiers gathering from all sides!

Re-enter Hannibal.
Han.
What's this? Show me that head.

Adh.
Thou seest, Maharbal.

Mah.
Ay, we know now.

Adh.
As well as if the gods
Had thundered it from heaven.

Mah.
They see it, too—
Look round—they see his face as well as we.

Adh.
How guessed we not? O Hannibal! O Carthage!

Han.
Adherbal!

Adh.
Hannibal!

Han.
Have it in charge,
That funeral rites be paid my brother's head,
This very night, and I will witness them.—
Pale head of Hasdrubal! by this kiss, I pray,
So and more also do the gods to me,
If I show mercy in the hour of Rome,
Till every hair of thine has been avenged,
To any living thing that's born of her!

Enter Soldiers with Himilco.
A Sold.
My general!

Han.
Speak.

Sold.
The enemy parades
Before our camp a crowd of prisoners, bound—
And here is one they have sent in to us.
He prays to speak with you.

Han.
[to Himilco.]
Come to my tent.
I'll see thee there alone.

[Exit, with Himilco.
Adh.
What means all this?
A battle fought!—And we!—

Mah.
It means forsooth—
Oh, may confusion seize you, gods of Carthage,
Since this is all that you could do for us!—
Am I bewitched, to weep so?

Adh.
Weep thy heart out!
The noblest head, save one, earth ever saw—
O Carthage! Carthage!—

Mah.
Lies there, like a stone.

Zeba.
What's my life worth, unless I can avenge thee?
Here on the dust before thee, O my lord,
I swear to bring the price of thee, one day,
To my heart's chief, my king, my only god!

[Exit.
Adh.
You veterans, all of you, whose iron hands
Are vainly striving to choke down your sobs,
Whose tears are tears of fire that veterans weep,
You'll not forget this day till Hannibal
Himself shall tell you it is blotted out?

All.
No, by the gods!—When we forget it, may
Our right hands wither!

Mah.
Swear, and swear! and groan
Your very souls out! That's what's left to us—
That's what it's come to!—Gods! And where is, then,
The army this man led?

Adh.
O thou dead face!
Canst thou not tell us? Didst thou whisper it
To him thou so didst love, and break his heart
In that one horrible moment? Did a fire
Flash from thine eyes to meet him? Did a warning
Break from thy lips? Dear, glorious, dreadful head!
An earthquake shall thy tale to Carthage be!—
Lie here, thou wreck, and wait for the vain honours
Despairing love shall lavish on dumb dust.

[Removes it within.]
A Sold.
The generals weep like us.

Another.
Are we but babies?
Let's curse the Romans, then!

Another.
To hell with them!—
Saw you his face, the face of Hannibal?

Another.
His? When shall I not see it? But we'll teach them
The head of Hasdrubal's a dangerous plaything!
Thousands of heads must pay him for this one!

Mah.
Well said! But pay him, shall we? Not with millions!
[Exit Maharbal.